Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [101]
After a few breaths of startled silence, Tarth nodded reluctantly.
"Ye, too," Elminster went on, "grow weaker and weaker in Art, Tarth Horn wood, as ye come to rely upon it more and more."
Tarth frowned. "You know my last name?"
Elminster grinned. "Aye. A while back, a friend of mine, young Nerndel-eh, old Nerndel he'd be, to ye-told me -he had chosen his heir-of-Art, a bright one. He asked me to look out for ye, if ye came this way."
"Then-then you'll train me?" Tarth asked, hope rising suddenly into his throat.
"Aye. In return for a service."
"I can keep my staff?"
"I did not say that. The service ye can do me, mageling is to destroy thy staff. Ye have come to depend on it overmuch, methinks, to have survived the perils of Myth Drannor and won that ring ye wave about so boldly. Tis time to learn to trust thine own power, without frozen fire to aid; thee. Thy service will be to undertake a simple but precise ritual, to bring about the destruction of thy staff."
"And if I refuse?"
Then ye must go," said the old man mildly. "On down. whate'er roads thy overconfident feet lead ye… until ye fall, as ye are sure to, to some brigand quick with a rock; or two, or a lone goblin creeping while ye sleep. No man who bears such power openly can have friends, nor trust companions overlong. If ye try, 'tis a cold and open grave ye'll find soon, lad, as someone else seizes thy baubles."
"I've not done poorly so far," Tarth said, nettled. "I can protect myself."
"Can ye?" came the soft response. "What defenses did ye prepare, then, before venturing into easy reach of my power?"
Tarth sat in silence, cold fear slithering within him; again. The Old Mage's eyes gleamed steadily in the dimness, watching him.
Finally Tarth shook his head in defeat, and spread his hands. "Only the spells I carry."
"And thy staff, of course," Elminster added pointedly. "Come, lad-thy tea is growing cold. Have we agreement, or will ye walk?"
"If I destroy this staff," Tarth said, trying not to look at it, "do you promise to make me a more powerful wizard-and let me walk free?"
Elminster nodded. "Aye. I do so swear. Mark ye: Only by the unmaking of thy staff will ye give and find freedom and learn true power and happiness."
Tarth nodded, slowly and reluctantly, as his thoughts raced. "Then we have agreement," he said. A moment later, he added, "I must rejoin my companions-of-adventure for a few days, then I shall return."
Elminster nodded. "Aye, neglect not thy share of the loot," he said with a smile. Tarth smiled back, thinly, and drained his jack.
"My thanks for the tea," he said, getting up. Dust, disturbed, rose around him in a clinging cloud.
"The tea was the least of the things ye should be thanking me for," the Old Mage told him mildly, waving a finger. In slow silence the pair of empty jacks rose out of sight overhead. Uneasily Tarth nodded, and strode for the door a shade more hastily than he'd intended to. It opened for him by itself. He sighed and did not see Elminster smiling at his back.
[sigh] you don't hurry through this, do you?
If one does, it doesn't work. Like certain dealings in Hell.
Clever as ever, mind-slave. Mind the back edge of your own tongue doesn't slice you.
[silence, images flourished almost mockingly]
There came a knock upon Sarlin's door. Sarlin the Supreme heard it and rose in haste. Times had been hard of late, and coins all too few.
Tarth Hornwood stood outside, his face tanned and a ring gleaming on his finger. His eyes looked somehow older than they had when he'd visited Sarlin before. He'd been adventuring, surely.
"What do you want, Tarth?" Sarlin asked plainly.
Tarth regarded the old, evil sorcerer calmly and said as simply, "Business. And no tricks, this time."
Sarlin did not smile, but nodded. "Well, then: what'"
Tarth thrust forward the splendid staff he held, dark and smooth and straight. "I'd like you to make another of these."
Sarlin raised his eyebrows. "That could well take years," he began. "Do-"
"Not its powers," Tarth said quickly, "though